


Built a Fort Out of Sheets (I Finally Found You)

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: The Original Sheyles Coffeeshop/Bakeryverse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Sex, Anniversary, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://higherarrowsfic.livejournal.com/26271.html">http://higherarrowsfic.livejournal.com/26271.html</a>. Completely self-indulgent bakery/coffeeshop AU with Harry Styles and George Shelley being an adorable cuteface couple celebrating their first anniversary, and then a lot of fairly dirty but cute sex.  That's it, that's the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Built a Fort Out of Sheets (I Finally Found You)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Explicit sexual content (slash [fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, rimming]) and graphic sexual dialogue. Terrible Britpicking because we did not really care.  
>  **Story Wordcount** : 5,900  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.  
>  **Notes** : This is a sequel to the first-ever George Shelley fic, which had in the notes section "Please don't read this if you are, or know, George Shelley. Just. Putting that out there in case he never becomes a famous X-Factor person. Just in case. If you're him or related to him or know him, don't read this. And don't read this if he doesn't become a popstar and you're his future corporate employer or something, because he had nothing to do with it." George, seriously, don't read fics about yourself. But we're chinhandsing all the time that a year ago, George was barely even on X Factor, and now, his second single is dropping soon and he's in like People Magazine and shit. Good on you, l'il Georgie. We like writing fic about your butt.

** Built a Fort Out of Sheets (I Finally Found You) **

"Are you kidding me? Carly Rae Jepson?"

George pops up from under the countertop with a half-scowl (and half-smile) on his face, set to defend his music choice du jour, but Harry is standing there in front of the Closed sign with his hair all full of flour and his arms positively filled with flowers.

"What's all this?" he asks, leaning over the counter to smell them. "Have I forgotten my birthday?" he continues, doing his level best to keep a straight face, considering he's been hinting with increasing lack of subtlety that this day is coming.

Harry brandishes the flowers with a big, dopey grin on his face. "Don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember." George gives up the pretense with a giggle, though he at least attempts to look smooth, leaning against the counter. "I didn't know they made flowers in bouquets that big."

"Well, I could have got you a biscuit and cookie bouquet, but I thought, 'no, that's disgusting.'" Harry leans across the counter and purses his lips, inviting a kiss.

"I'm working," George admonishes. He taps Harry's lips with a finger and then sighs, giving in and pressing a kiss against them as well. He's pretty easy for Harry, as the past year has helped him discover.

"You have four minutes left," Harry whines. "And the only customer left is Gladys, and she doesn't mind." He tips an imaginary cap to Gladys, the elderly woman who comes in every day to drink 50p coffee refills and read newspapers from 2010.

She offers them a cheerful wave before going back to her paper. 2010 must have been a very interesting year.

And it's true, she doesn't mind. George isn't sure she really even notices that he and Harry are kissing, although maybe she notices that they've been together for a year. Very interested in recent histories, is Gladys.

"I'm getting paid for those four minutes, Styles, so you'll let me finish my work before you try to get frisky." George gives Harry a last peck on the cheek.

Harry grins at him and lays the flowers across the counter before hopping up himself, heels thudding lightly against the counterfront.

"You're a menace," George tells him, going back to his rearranging of the little cakes. There aren't many of them, because most people prefer the bakery across the street for their baked goods, but the boss likes to make money how he can.

George has already cleaned out the espresso machine and restocked all of the bins and syrups and tins for tomorrow – which he has requested off, thank you very much, because he doesn't plan to leave the bed for twenty-four hours – so it's easy enough to finish wiping countertops and chivvy Gladys to go. She leaves a dusty rose lipstick print on George's cheek before giving Harry a cheerful wave.

"Are you done?" Harry asks expectantly. He's nearly bouncing on his toes. Some days, like these, it's obvious to George that Harry's younger than him. George is dating a toddler.

“Nearly, you prat." George shuts out the lights, closes out the alarm on the till, and unties his apron. Once he's slipped his arms around Harry's waist, appreciating the warmth of him and the pervasive soft smell of vanilla and toasted buns and nuts, he smiles and promises, "Now I'm done."

"Good." Harry noses his way into George's neck like a golden retriever. "I've got plans for you."

"I hope they involve me being done." George kisses him, even as Harry starts laughing right into his mouth. It feels weird.

It's a pretty common thing, with them, either George giggling or Harry unable to stop laughing at his own jokes.

George likes how much of his life has been spent laughing since Harry came into it.

"Come home with me," Harry murmurs, once he's finished kissing George. For the moment, anyway. George doesn't think there'll ever be a point where he'll feel satisfied with the amount of kisses Harry's given him.

"I have to, it's my home." George lets Harry grope his bum a little for his insolence, and then he wraps Harry in his scarf because he always catches chill in this weather, poor thing.

"I was trying to be sexy," Harry sulks. "You're supposed to be all, yes of course I'll come home with you, you debonair man. I'm debonair."

"You are debonair," George agrees, and kisses Harry's nose. "You got me flowers."

"I did." That cheers Harry right up, and he dimples happily at George. "See? I'm very debonair. And you love me."

George ties Harry's scarf a bit tighter. He tucks his hand into Harry's and Harry slides them both into his coat pocket for protection against the cold, and they head out the door. "I do love you."

They don't say it very often. George thinks it means more when it's said sparingly, but to be honest, there's something about Harry that makes him feel like he could say nothing but those three words and it'd never mean anything less.

Harry squeezes his hand, and they amble up the street towards home.

Home, the home that they share.

A year ago, George never would've imagined that this would be his life. Then again, Georg never would've imagined Harry.

Well, he did imagine him back then, and fairly often, which Harry now knows and fortunately doesn't find all that creepy. But he didn't think – just, before Harry, he'd never really had much luck with getting the happy ending.

This is the happiest ending he could ask for.

Not that it's an ending. It's really more of a beginning. Maybe an in-the-middle-ing.

They've upscaled the living situation, too, since they first met, and that's a happy point, too, because now they have a dishwasher and a shower that actually works well, and they get to share it all.

Especially the shower. Which is quite nice. Very big and spacious, and the hot water has only cut out on them once.

George tucks his face down into the enormous bouquet of flowers and takes an admiring breath. He squeezes Harry's palm. "D'you want dinner?"

"I'm cooking." Harry draws himself up proudly. "For you. Not just in general, but I thought I'd cook, 'cause I like cooking for you."

George has to bite his lip to dampen his grin. "Okay. Fajitas?"

"How'd you know?" Harry looks astonished.

George giggles. They have fajitas _most_ Fridays. "Just a funny hunch."

"Well, these are special fajitas, anyway. They're anniversary fajitas." Harry brings George's hand to his mouth and kisses it before tucking it back into his jacket pocket.

It doesn't really seem like it's been a year, but sometimes that's because it seems quicker and other times ages more.

Harry lets George into the building first, keeps his hand low on George's back as he does. "Did you have a good day?" he asks courteously, his fingers curling into George's coat.

George nods. "It was alright. I had a pretty good morning, at least." He gives Harry a wink, then jogs ahead of him up the narrow walk-up staircase.

"I like to think that was mostly me," Harry replies, taking just long enough to answer that George knows he was watching his bum. "Not just breakfast."

"It was all you, you salad." George unlocks the door and immediately has to drop the flowers to scoop up Biscuit before she can make a play for the Great Escape.

"I'm far more nutritious than a salad," Harry protests. He tucks his chin over George's shoulder and growls as fiercely as he can, which, well. It's Harry. Biscuit doesn't look intimidated.

He takes up charge of the flowers and puts them in a big beer stein they'd acquired without really meaning to at Oktoberfest (they're boys; they don't have vases) while George coddles Biscuit with scratches between the ears and kisses to the top of her head.

"You've stolen the affections of my cat," Harry whines, fluffing the flowers so they look prettiest. "She used to like me more and then you came along with your face and your hair. She thinks your head's a better ball of yarn than my head."

"It is," George agrees, and Biscuit does indeed bat at his hair in agreement. George snuggles the cat up close beneath his chin and looks beseechingly up at Harry. "Weren't you going to fix me dinner?"

"That was before I remembered how you made my cat like you more," Harry grumbles, but he does toddle over to the fridge for ingredients.

"If it makes you feel better, I put a lot less effort into it than it took to get you to like me."

Harry huffs. "I liked you without any effort at all, thanks. I liked you before I even talked to you."

"Liar," George says. "I was just the weird kid with oddly specific taste in bread. Now go make me fajitas on white corn tortilla."

"I like weird kids, obviously." Harry sticks his tongue out, but he's a good listener, and does what George tells him.

George settles Biscuit on her silent feet and watches as she streaks away to hide somewhere in the flat. "I'm glad." He stands to kiss Harry behind the ear. "I'm gonna shower the coffee-smell off me."

"I like that smell." Harry pulls him close for a better kiss, humming pleased noises into George's mouth. "If you have to."

"I like the smell of coffee that is on its way to my mouth, but not the smell of coffee that has been spilt on my shirt." He kisses Harry's neck again and delights in the shiver it elicits.

"You could just take your shirt off," Harry suggests. Thinks he's being helpful.

George taps Harry's bum. "You'll see it all later, don't worry. Greedy."

"I am," agrees Harry. "Very greedy. I want my anniversary sex, please."

"Feed me first, so I can have energy," George calls, already on his way to the shower. It's such a nice shower.

"You'll need it!" Harry shouts back at him. The pans clank in the cupboard.

It doesn't take long to scrub the scent of stale coffee beans away with Harry's ridiculous lemon-verbena soap, and then George is in his pajamas and padding back to the kitchen to drape himself all over Harry.

"How'm I meant to cook with you being a nuisance?" It's said fondly, Harry's hands covered in raw chicken gunk. "Can't even kiss you properly without you getting maybe-salmonella."

"Well, don't give me salmonella. It will ruin our anniversary." George doesn't stop hanging from Harry's shoulders.

"You're like a little monkey boy," Harry coos. "Let me find you a banana."

George bites his neck lightly before any further innuendo can be made.

His presence doesn't impede Harry's fajita making skills at all, in the end. Harry might not be a wizard at cooking like he claims, but he really is ace at fajitas.

George sits across Harry's lap while they eat, and it's nice. Comfortable.

Once they've finished, Harry lets his arm rest around George's waist, and sighs, nuzzling into the line of his jaw.

George yawns, his eyes screwed up behind the black frames of his glasses.

"Cute," Harry says quietly, pecking a kiss to George's cheekbone. "You're my favorite boy."

George tilts his heavy head back to rest on Harry's shoulder, chin tilted for kisses. "You're my fav'rite boy, too."

"Are you tired? Did you want to sleep?" Harry asks between pleasant, soft-mouthed kisses. "We can have anniversary funtimes tomorrow, if you're too tired."

"No, I want nakedtime with you," George whines, but he yawns again anyway. Damn his desensitization to caffeine.

"We can have naked sleeptime." Harry gives George's ribs a tickle. "You look like you're about to fall over."

George shakes his head, obstinate. "No, I want you to fuck me. A lot. A lot of fucking me."

Harry laughs at him, the prick. "You sure? If you fall asleep in the middle I'll be cross. I'll make fun of you." He pauses. "I'll tell Louis and _he_ 'll make fun of you." 

"I only fell asleep during it twice!"

"Yeah, but one of the times, you were _on top_."

“One time!" George whines, pushing his way up to a better sitting position. "It had been a long day!"

"It was a long night, for me." Harry stands, arms scooped beneath George's thighs to carry him to the bedroom.

"I won't fall asleep," George promises. "And anyway, it's your job to entertain me so I don't."

Harry pecks his lips again. "You're right."

"Too right I'm right." George flops back against the bed with a laugh, giving Harry his best entivicing look. "Ravish me. Paint me like one of your French girls."

Harry giggles, and George tweaks his ear gently, fondly. The last time George had said that, Harry came home with a palette of body paint, and they'd ruined the sheets because it was not, as the bottles said, 100% washable.

That's beside the point, though. The point is that they're here and Harry's pretty and he's George's to have and hold and it's all very sexy. Harry makes George feel sexy.

Harry's hair tickles as he kisses George's stomach, shirt pushed up so Harry can get at his soft skin.

"That's nice," he tells Harry, weaving fingers through his hair. Even when Harry's a lazy bum and doesn't wash it for longer than hair should remain unwashed, it still feels soft and healthy when you play with it, so George doesn't care very much.

Besides, he can shampoo it later in the bath, and Harry never says no to a bath.

"You're nice," Harry responds immediately. He looks up beneath his fringe, mischievous eyes meeting George's. "Very nice. All over."

"Thank you, love," George says. "Are you going to be nice and blow me, or are you just hanging out?"

"I live to serve." Harry grins at him, all dimples and charm and sex, and shuffles downward, giving George's navel a quick bite as he passes it.

George's eyes drift shut on a low, happy moan when Harry noses at the small bulge of George's cock, then pulls down his trousers and pants all at once.

"Hello," Harry croons at George's dick like it's a hamster or something. "You're looking lovely as always."

George snorts. "You're so weird. I never would have gone home with you if I'd known you were so weird."

"You did come home with me," Harry points out with a high degree of smugness. "No take-backs, you love me, no take-backs."

George sighs, letting Harry pump lightly at his cock. "I guess you're right."

"I'm always right," replies Harry before he slurps down on the head of George's cock.

In the year since the first time, Harry's learned exactly what George likes.

Harry knows that George doesn't really like to be teased, and he knows all the places George likes Harry to put his tongue, and he knows what pressure and rhythm and grip to use to get him off if he wants to do it quickly, but he's not doing those things. He wants this to last.

George mews and squirms and Harry giggles, still tonguing at the ridge.

"You've got to stay still," he mutters, pressing one hand against the wing of George's hip bone. "I'll choke."

"You're being mean," George mutters. "I've been waiting for this all day."

"So've I." Harry smiles up at him all debonair innocence and hair. "And I don't want it to be over too fast."

George grumbles, rolling his hips against Harry's hands, bumping the tip of his cockhead up against Harry's plush lips and leaving a shiny smear there.

Harry licks his lips with much more fanfare than is really required, but George has a nice view, so he'll allow it.

"I've already done all the work," Harry points out. "I made you dinner, too."

George sighs dramatically. "You did," he allows. "It was delicious as always, dear."

Harry kisses George's hip. "Better." He sucks down on George's cock again as a reward, sliding down deep until his lips meet the edge of his hand, still wrapped at the base.

George's stomach muscles tremble, his fingers tightening in Harry's hair before they loosen again. Harry really does have a tremendous mouth, and George is just happy he gets to reap the benefits from it.

"Love your mouth," he murmurs, petting through Harry's hair. "Love you, too, but fuck, love your mouth."

Harry hums, pleased, his fingers walking up George's thigh to tickle his belly, the other hand still holding his hip down.

George _eep!_ s and wriggles, his dick slipping out of Harry's mouth and across his cheek. "Don't tickle!"

"It's uplifting," Harry argues. He places an absent kiss against George's shaft. "You've told me that before, anyway. I'm uplifting you."

“I'm already up," George whines, and thrusts a bit to slide his slick cock along the side of Harry's face just to prove it.

Harry _hmm_ s and opens his mouth again, taking George back down. He hums again once his lips meet his fist and his fingertips dig into George's stomach.

"That's so good," George mumbles. "Can you do the – with your – the one I like?"

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Harry pulls his mouth off, touching the tip of his tongue to his top lip. "Only if you say it," he replies, his voice gone deeper.

George's back arches into a pretty line as his fingers fist the bedsheets into well-worn crinkles. "I don't know words for it, I just like... like your tongue, and things?"

"Close enough," Harry decides, his wet, red mouth sliding back down George's prick. His tongue presses against the vein on the underside, the tip of it tracing a pattern only Harry knows.

With a deep, broken groan, George _melts_.

Harry makes an encouraging noise, his head bobbing down, and he breathes deep into his nose before he moves his hand and slides down farther, the muscles of his throat relaxing around George.

George is always lost to noise by this point, writhing and arching against the sheets in wordlessness. He runs one hand through Harry's hair and the other clutches into his own fringe, holding it back as his eyes blow wide.

Harry's free hand slides up to tweak one of George's nipples, and a laugh builds in the back of his throat that George can feel, his fingers close to tugging out his hair.

His heels bang against the mattress as he pushes up into Harry's mouth, chasing that laughter, chasing something bright and hot and wonderful.

And then Harry's mouth slides down the rest of the way, his nose against George's pubic bone, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed.

The noise that George manages to eke out when he comes is so ridiculous that Harry has to pull away, laughing and choking and getting come all over George's belly.

"Hey!" George exclaims with as much effort as he can muster, which isn't a lot. And Harry's choking to death, a little, so he doesn't care anyway.

Harry wipes his mouth, eyes sparkling. "I'm sorry, love. You sounded like a toaster fell in love with Biscuit."

"Well, you sound like a. Stupid. Thing," George grumbles. He sulks down at Harry, covered in spit and come and unable to bask in the aftermath of his orgasm.

Harry just hums, smiling indulgently, and kisses George's hipbone. "I like your noises."

"Lucky for you I like your blowjobs," George replies, getting his fingers back into Harry's hair.

Harry grins. "Fancy anything else?"

"Can't help but notice you're poking my leg there," says George, nudging his calf against Harry's hard cock, which isn't subtle in the slightest whether it's poking you in the back or just hanging out while they watch TV.

"Yup," Harry agrees. "Something you want to do about that?"

"I could be convinced to do something about that if you come up here a minute," George invites.

"And have to look at your ugly mug?" Harry pretends to consider it, easing back onto his ankles to frame George's face in a pretend camera lens with his hands. His dick bobs out in front of him, pink and pretty, the head nudged into his navel. George's mouth waters a bit at the sight of it.

"Here," he commands, patting the spot on the bed next to him. "Let me kiss you."

"Could do," Harry agrees, beaming, and flops down onto the bed beside George, hooking one long bare leg around George's ankles to reel him in closer.

George gets a hand behind Harry's neck so that he can pull him in for a kiss on the head and then two twin cheek kisses.

"Is that it?" Harry demands. "I suck your cock and you just kiss my face a little? That's not fair. I could get as much from Biscuit. Or Barbara down at the bakery."

"Bakery Barbara wouldn't sully her mouth with you." George giggles and kisses Harry's nose just to rub it in.

"You're probably right," Harry says ruefully. "She's too much woman for me. Out of my league."

"Too right she is." George pecks Harry's lips once, quickly, muffling another giggle.

Harry's hands envelop George's hips, his fingers rested across the little swell of George's bum. "Are you too sensitive, or can I pound you into the pillows?"

"So romantic." George rolls his eyes.

"I know." Harry draws himself up proudly and wriggles his eyebrows at George. "I'm a real poet."

George shakes his head, overwhelmed with fondness. Harry does, sometimes, write him little poems on the brown paper lunchbags that house his lunches, and the terribleness of the sandwiches is only rivalled by the terribleness of Harry's poetry. George has saved every bit of writing.

He rewards Harry with a real kiss, right on his puffy blowjob-lips. Harry seems happy enough, returning the kiss in equal measure.

George pushes Harry's shoulders down against the blankets and straddles Harry's thighs, smiling into the kiss.

Harry's hands sneak around to give George's bum a pinch and then settle on his hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles while his fingers get a good grip.

"Not gonna fall asleep this time, are you?" he asks, winking.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Never in my life." George plants his hands on Harry's chest, right over his nipples (the main ones, anyway).

Harry hums, content to just look at George, drink him in. Even after a year, he's the most beautiful boy Harry can imagine having in his bed, but now, he's also the boy who knows Harry better than anyone.

George laughs and looks down. "Stop looking at me like that," he mutters, the back of his neck warm from more than the weight of his hair.

"I can't help it," Harry says, and the joking is gone from his voice, all soft naked honesty. "You're my favorite."

"I know." George doesn't look up but his smile is still visible. "Back at you, and stuff."

Harry smooths small circles into the wings of George's hipbones. "I do love you."

"Know that too." George relaxes down until he's lying flush with Harry's chest and gives his neck a good nuzzle. "Love you more."

"I don't think that's possible," Harry murmurs, nuzzling George back. His fingertips slowly slide towards George's bum.

George makes a soft noise and spreads his knees wider, tilting his arse up so that Harry has better access to it.

They aren't quite kissing, letting their noses nuzzle and lips just barely brush.

"I think you should get the lube now," says George, leaning up to just let his lips touch Harry's. "Please."

"Yes, sir," Harry says, and George eases back over Harry's legs again so Harry can sit up and go through their bedside table drawer.

George strokes Harry's ribs, sneaking another kiss once Harry turns back, arms looping around Harry's neck. "Happy anniversary," he mumbles against his lips.

Harry grins as he uncaps the lube and squeezes out a dollop on his fingertips. "Happy anniversary, love."

George shuffles up, settling his chin on Harry's shoulder. "Am I good to stay here?" he checks. "Or do you need me to move?"

"You're good anywhere."

"I knew you'd say that. But really, do you need me to move?"

"Nah, you're fine." Harry proves it by stroking his slicked up fingertips over George's hole until he shivers.

George is relaxed and comfortable and greedy for it, rocking himself back against Harry's hand.

"That's it," murmurs Harry, pressing one finger slowly inside. He doesn't coddle George, doesn't need to at this point, but he's always more worried than he needs to be about causing George pain.

"Love that," George mutters into the side of Harry's neck, opening his lips to gently suck in a pale bruise.

Harry's thighs tense underneath George and he lets his head fall back as he carefully adds another finger, pushing both in at once.

"Really good," confirms George, spreading his legs a wider around Harry's hips.

"Yeah?" Harry asks, his cock pushing up against the underneath of George's thigh. "Is it good?"

George nods, breathing heavier, his teeth scraping up against Harry's collarbone. "Not as good as your cock."

"Well, of course not." Harry laughs into George's hair. "Speaking of my cock, are you ready for it?"

Two of his fingers curl, deep inside George, prodding gently to make George harden up fast again and moan, electricity shooting through him.

"Yeah, thought so." Harry sounds smug enough about it that George might pretend otherwise if he were any less hard.

He spreads his fingers once, twice, just to be sure, until George is fucking down against his palm.

"Okay, okay," Harry whispers, removing his fingers with a soft wet sound. He slicks more lube down himself and leans up to kiss George again. "Good?"

George's eyes are stars. "So good. Please?"

Harry takes hold of George's hip with one hand and helps him lower down, his other hand holding his cock steady.

George always loves this bit, loves sinking down over Harry slowly enough to feel it opening him up, every inch.

It seems like Harry was holding his breath, because once George is sat prim on Harry's lap, a whoosh of air comes out of his lungs.

Whenever George is on top, Harry looks taken away in time at first: his eyes are huge and round and amazed, taking in the shape of George over him, his hands running over George's thighs and belly and chest and down to stroke over his cock.

George lets him have that time until he just can't wait any longer, and he whimpers, shifting his hips from side to side. "Move?" he requests.

Harry exhales again in a great, laughing whoosh, his roving hands finally settling on George's hips to help him along. "Sorry, love. Got caught up."

"That's okay," gasps George, grabbing hold of Harry's shoulders for stability. "Very okay."

Harry helps George ease his way up and down again in long, slow, aching rolls of the hips, George's hands braced on Harry's chest.

It's so good that it makes George shiver, his eyes closing because he can't feel this good and be looking at Harry, it's too much goodness at once.

It's too slow and intense to be building towards anything, yet. It's just... feeling.

"Can we switch 'round?" asks Harry, his breath short. "I think I can get in deeper that way."

George bites his lip. He always thinks there's no way Harry can possibly fit deeper into him.

"You think so?" he asks, bouncing a little. God, he can't imagine Harry getting any deeper than he is.

Harry's eyes go dark and he sighs, rumbles, licks his lips again and nods.

"Yeah," decides George. "Yeah, go for it, then." He smiles in challenge. "If you really can."

Neither of them is coordinated enough to attempt a change of position while Harry's still inside George – they'd tried it once before and nearly either ended up in hospital or had to move to separate continents because of the embarrassment – but Harry never takes his hands off George's body, like he's afraid that he'll disappear in a puff of smoke like a mirage if Harry can't feel him.

The sheets are warm against George's back from Harry's body heat, and George relaxes into them with a happy little moan, spreading his arms against them and smiling up where Harry' settling over him. "Do your worst."

Harry snaps his teeth once, pretending to bite the end of George's nose. "With pleasure. Literally. Get it? Because I'm going to make you come again?"

George laughs against his will. "No. No, that was terrible. I might call the whole thing off."

Harry whimpers pathetically, smudging his nose into George's neck as he grinds his cock against George's hip. "Please don't."

"No more naked jokes." George scritches his fingers into the hair at the base of Harry's neck. "And get back inside me."

Harry doesn't say a word, just slips his hands under George's hips and angles them to push back inside in one long, smooth thrust.

He was right: it's deeper this way.

"Oh my god," George groans, his back arching. "Fuck, okay, you were right. You were really right."

Harry tugs at George's earlobe lightly with his teeth, making George shiver down to the base of his spine. "Told you."

"You did tell me," George agrees. He's surprised he can manage words. "I'll never not believe you again."

Harry leans down and captures George's lips in a kiss. "You say that every time."

"I mean it every time," George insists, laughter trapped between them. "Swear."

Harry eases back and pushes in again; George wraps a leg up around Harry's ribs. "Glad to know you're honest, love. This okay?"

"Perfect," George rumbles. "Just like that, thank you."

"Good," Harry murmurs. "'Cause you feel amazing."

George can't hold back another little huff of laughter at how good it feels; it hiccups right out of him in a tiny chirp.

"Love your little body." Harry hitches George's leg up higher, until his thigh stretches long and lean and pale, and his knee rests on Harry's shoulder. "Made just for me."

"Just for you," George murmurs in agreement. "All for you, everything is."

Harry groans, grasping into their well-abused headboard for more leverage.

It bangs hard against the wall. Good thing they don't share a flat with anybody else or they'd've been thrown out by now with how often they dent their wall.

It's all George can do now to keep breathing, much less speak. Instead he braces his teeth against Harry's shoulder, biting and soothing in equal measure.

"That's perfect, you're perfect," Harry gasps out, faltering for a moment. He continues in a faster pace and George's thighs are burning in a pleasant way from being held where they are.

"Are you gonna come?" Harry asks, breathless. "I might have to finish you off again, you – ah – you feel too good."

"Mhm," George manages in a tight whine. "Yeah, yeah, okay, please?"

Harry drops his head and grunts, pulling out just in time to avoid coming inside George, instead spurting through his fingers and onto George's belly and the curve down into his hipbone.

The feel of it dripping down George's stomach would be enough for him. He was already messy from Harry's blowjob fumbling and now he's dirty-sweaty-sex-gross, and Harry's above him still so prettily mussed.

Harry collapses down to lick lightly at George's hip. "Turn over."

He hopes that means what he thinks it means. George scrambles over, lifting himself up onto his knees so that his erection bobs in between him and the mattress, giving Harry a hopeful look over his shoulder.

Harry nods, shifting George just how he wants him, moving him easily with his strong arms. Normally, George hates being so small – but with Harry, he just feels... sweet.

"That's good, love, just stay like that," Harry urges before he licks hot and slow over George's hole. He knows he must taste like lube – has no idea how Harry can like it so much, but he does.

George breathes out on a sob, pushing his face into the pillows. They smell like Harry. And him. They smell like them, where they sleep every night in the home they share together.

Harry's holding George there where he wants him just like he always holds George, just tight enough and without letting go.

Even though George has already come once, it never takes long like this to get going again, especially once Harry's wrapped one hand completely around George's cock, his thumb swiping circles around the leaky red tip after it's disappeared into Harry's grip.

He's muttering something against George but his blood's rushing in his ears too loud for him to hear it, and the vibrations of Harry's voice aren't helping him stave off the urge to come again.

George always has to cover his face when he's on the rocketing climb up to an orgasm just from Harry rimming him. It's too much.

Harry doesn't stop while George comes. His tongue is relentless, and George has his face buried in one arm while his other fist punches into the pillow and his vision flashes white.

Once he's finished, Harry's already cuddling him in a spoon atop their blankets, smoothing George's fringe out of his eyes.

The first word out of George's mouth is, "Bnuuurgh," which isn't really a proper word at all.

Harry just giggles, though, and kisses George's eyebrow. "Yeah. Me, too."

George tries to say 'Happy Anniversary' again, since it seems the time for it, but he's too out of breath, and anyway, Harry knows.

After a while, once George can move again and has chosen to do so by flopping all over Harry, yawning in his face before leaving little smudgy kisses all over his ribs, Harry says, "Bath?"

George wrinkles his nose. He is quite dirty, and old, dried come doesn't feel anywhere near as sexy as new come. "Bath," he agrees.

Their bathtub isn't _quite_ big enough for them to share – they both have quite a lot of leg and elbow – but every so often, Harry gets it into his head to try and they are very determined to succeed.

They get very scrunched up, and a cramp in George's leg almost gets his neck broken when he tries to stand up and slips on soap, but all in all it's a very nice bath. Efficient.

Harry scratches George's back nicely while he's soaping him down.

"This is a nice anniversary," mutters George, leaning forward so Harry can soap down his spine. "I like this anniversary. Let's have another one next year."

When he looks over his shoulder, Harry is grinning so hard he needs to bite his lip to hide it. His eyes are a bit shiny, and George _awwws_ and squirms around, splashing water all over the floor, to be able to kiss Harry on the mouth, soft and sweet and lingering.

"Let's have another one next year," Harry says, settling his chin on George's shoulder and wrapping one arm around his waist in a little hug. "Yeah. I like the sound of that."


End file.
